and handed it to her. Grateful, Frankie ripped off the plastic and pressed the entire mound to her arm.
“I don’t trust cops. If I called them right now, they’d end up hauling my uncle in for some bogus charge, and me for not reporting a gunshot wound. Who the hell needs that?”
“Is your uncle a criminal?”
“He’s a businessman.”
“Then why not call the cops?”
Frankie snorted, the contempt of her action palpable. “Like I said, it’s none of their business.”
Reese mimicked her snort, and she shot him a glare. “You should hear yourself —”
“Butt out, Reese.”
“Are you sure it was your uncle they were after?”
Frankie gasped and looked at him. A niggle of doubt tugged at her gut. “I’m sure. Now stop with the questions.”
“I think I have a right to some information. We’ll be working closely together, and if someone is taking potshots at you, I don’t want to be around.”
“If it’s too scary for you, you can leave as soon as you drop me off.”
“I need this job.”
“I’ll take that as a yes you’re hanging around.” Looking straight ahead, she asked, “Are you familiar with Pacific Heights?”
“Over off Jackson?” He glanced at her. “Do you live there?”
“No, my uncle Sanzo does.”
“And we’re going there why?”
“He’s a doctor.”
“Smartest thing you’ve said since you hired me.”
Frankie didn’t dignify his comment with a response. A long, heavy silence followed.
Reese glanced at the soaked glob of tissue she pressed to her arm. “You should go to the ER.”
“And what do you propose I tell them when they ask who shot me?”
“The same thing you’ll tell the cops.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you.” She winced when she crossed her arms over her chest, and thankfully he didn’t push her.
Reese excused himself as Uncle Sanzo clucked over his niece. He walked outside to the sprawling backyard. The tranquil gurgle of a nearby fountain was the only sound disturbing the sultry night air.
He shook his head at Frankie’s stubbornness. If he had thought her wound was even close to life-threatening, he would have had her in an emergency room faster than her Unk could order a hit. While Frankie might be connected to every Italian gene pool in town, Reese had a few connections of his own.
He dialed a number on his cell phone and waited patiently for an answer.
“Yo, Guido’s.”
Reese smiled. Jamerson’s goombah impersonation wasn’t too bad. If he’d had a landline, they could speak openly. “Wiseguy one here, Guido.”
“Yo, wiseguy, wassa matta you?”
“Wassa matta is we need peeps on the little piece of shit we chatted about. I’ll lay odds he just tried to reduce his family by two.”
“We’re on it.”
“We’ll compare notes when I have a secure line.”
Reese hung up and walked back into the doctor’s opulent house. Looked like crime did pay, and well.
“He said I need stitches.”
Reese stopped in his tracks. Frankie sat quietly in the shadows of the large living room. He scanned the area for the good doc.
“I don’t want stitches. I don’t have time for stitches. Stitches hurt.”
Reese felt a jolt of compassion. She sounded like a scared little girl. But he knew better. Francesca Donatello had the mentality of a barracuda, and besides that, little girls didn’t have curves that made his hands itch. He watched her finger the ruby ring on her right hand. “You’re going to rub those rocks right off.”
She stopped and clasped her hands. Reese felt an urge to kneel down beside her, take her hand into his, and comfort her. He shook his head and stepped away. No fucking way.
“Who were you talking to outside?” she asked.
“Just business.”
She rolled her eyes and sat back into the overstuffed chair.
Reese scowled down at her. This latest incident put a whole new spin on the investigation. He was more convinced now than ever that Anthony Donatello was working his way up
“I don’t trust cops. If I called them right now, they’d end up hauling my uncle in for some bogus charge, and me for not reporting a gunshot wound. Who the hell needs that?”
“Is your uncle a criminal?”
“He’s a businessman.”
“Then why not call the cops?”
Frankie snorted, the contempt of her action palpable. “Like I said, it’s none of their business.”
Reese mimicked her snort, and she shot him a glare. “You should hear yourself —”
“Butt out, Reese.”
“Are you sure it was your uncle they were after?”
Frankie gasped and looked at him. A niggle of doubt tugged at her gut. “I’m sure. Now stop with the questions.”
“I think I have a right to some information. We’ll be working closely together, and if someone is taking potshots at you, I don’t want to be around.”
“If it’s too scary for you, you can leave as soon as you drop me off.”
“I need this job.”
“I’ll take that as a yes you’re hanging around.” Looking straight ahead, she asked, “Are you familiar with Pacific Heights?”
“Over off Jackson?” He glanced at her. “Do you live there?”
“No, my uncle Sanzo does.”
“And we’re going there why?”
“He’s a doctor.”
“Smartest thing you’ve said since you hired me.”
Frankie didn’t dignify his comment with a response. A long, heavy silence followed.
Reese glanced at the soaked glob of tissue she pressed to her arm. “You should go to the ER.”
“And what do you propose I tell them when they ask who shot me?”
“The same thing you’ll tell the cops.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you.” She winced when she crossed her arms over her chest, and thankfully he didn’t push her.
Reese excused himself as Uncle Sanzo clucked over his niece. He walked outside to the sprawling backyard. The tranquil gurgle of a nearby fountain was the only sound disturbing the sultry night air.
He shook his head at Frankie’s stubbornness. If he had thought her wound was even close to life-threatening, he would have had her in an emergency room faster than her Unk could order a hit. While Frankie might be connected to every Italian gene pool in town, Reese had a few connections of his own.
He dialed a number on his cell phone and waited patiently for an answer.
“Yo, Guido’s.”
Reese smiled. Jamerson’s goombah impersonation wasn’t too bad. If he’d had a landline, they could speak openly. “Wiseguy one here, Guido.”
“Yo, wiseguy, wassa matta you?”
“Wassa matta is we need peeps on the little piece of shit we chatted about. I’ll lay odds he just tried to reduce his family by two.”
“We’re on it.”
“We’ll compare notes when I have a secure line.”
Reese hung up and walked back into the doctor’s opulent house. Looked like crime did pay, and well.
“He said I need stitches.”
Reese stopped in his tracks. Frankie sat quietly in the shadows of the large living room. He scanned the area for the good doc.
“I don’t want stitches. I don’t have time for stitches. Stitches hurt.”
Reese felt a jolt of compassion. She sounded like a scared little girl. But he knew better. Francesca Donatello had the mentality of a barracuda, and besides that, little girls didn’t have curves that made his hands itch. He watched her finger the ruby ring on her right hand. “You’re going to rub those rocks right off.”
She stopped and clasped her hands. Reese felt an urge to kneel down beside her, take her hand into his, and comfort her. He shook his head and stepped away. No fucking way.
“Who were you talking to outside?” she asked.
“Just business.”
She rolled her eyes and sat back into the overstuffed chair.
Reese scowled down at her. This latest incident put a whole new spin on the investigation. He was more convinced now than ever that Anthony Donatello was working his way up
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